


Forgive Me, Mother, for I Have Sinned

by Sincerely_Sierra



Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Abortion, F/F, Feminism, Homophobia, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Strong Female Characters, Women in Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28788444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincerely_Sierra/pseuds/Sincerely_Sierra
Summary: After a raid at the bar, several lesbians are admitted to Lucia for treatment. Mildred is there, and her angel wings spread once more, especially for one lesbian in particular who has found herself in a very unenviable position. But Mildred can fix anything. She’s the angel of mercy, in more ways than one.(This is literally a pro-choice feminist’s vent fic.)
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Comments: 5
Kudos: 55





	Forgive Me, Mother, for I Have Sinned

**Author's Note:**

> Well. This is...quite something. I’ll be honest, I was originally planning something very tooth-rotting, and my mind of course turned it into a very feminist rant that carried on for too many thousands of words too long. 
> 
> I didn’t tag this with any warnings because every last word is NSFW and you could either read it in its entirety or throw the whole fic out. I’m not squeamish regarding abortions, but I understand it’s a trigger for some people. There’s talk of violence against women, violence against lesbians, homophobia, rape (not depicted), unwanted pregnancy, domestic abuse, and a not very detailed but detailed enough depiction of an unsafe abortion and its after effects. 
> 
> It’s just a vent. I’m pro-choice and I’m tired of men and even other women telling me what to do. I understand some may not agree with me. That much is fine, but keep comments civil. Gwendolyn and Mildred are feminists. I said what I said.
> 
> (Not proofread yet because it’s 3 am and I’m 6 hours past my bedtime.) 
> 
> —Sincerely, Sierra

Sundays were gloomy, much like the song spinning on the record player had said they would be. Mildred did two loads of laundry, Gwendolyn washed the dishes, and they twirled around the house, anticipating the arrival of Trevor and Andrew for dinner. Trevor had insisted he cook this time around, because Mildred and Gwendolyn had outdone themselves the last time they’d visited from San Francisco, and so Gwendolyn surrendered and did Trevor the favor of buying the ingredients rather than him driving with spoiling almond milk and wilting celery in the trunk of his car.

It was due to be a family affair that night. Dinners together were an enigma, with Mildred’s work schedule at the hospital reserving most of her time and Gwendolyn’s constant pining over a career in politics. Offers came and went faster than a train, but Gwendolyn hadn’t given up just yet, not even when they were expecting guests in less than an hour and she hadn’t brushed her teeth or combed her hair. 

Mildred was wearing her silk robe that exposed the fleshy part of her pinkish breasts. She lived in that goddamn thing outside of her nurse’s uniform, and Gwendolyn’s hormones were absolutely wild for it. She found it funny and quite ironic how her body, just a few days out of the month, would demand a pregnancy just by looking at Mildred. As Mildred would say, bodies were just stupid. Looking at Mildred wasn’t enough for Gwendolyn to desire gestation, and even sleeping in the same bed as a man for many years, Gwendolyn never felt curious enough to ask Trevor to soothe her hormonal demands by any means. They may as well have had an electrified fence between them. 

“You have clean underwear now,” Mildred announced to Gwendolyn, twirling a pair of red panties around her finger. “You’re not wearing any, and I can tell because even your emergency underwear were in the wash.”

Gwendolyn was, in fact, not wearing underwear. She should have been this time of month, but she hadn’t thought to plan her underwear schedule around her hormonal schedule, and she felt the wetness leave herself just as Mildred tossed the underwear into her hand. Gwendolyn’s cheeks flushed as she slid them on underneath her bathrobe. 

“We’d better hurry,” said Mildred, her hands seductively reaching the lacy lining of her robe. “They’ll be here soon. It’s almost two.” 

Well, how did Mildred expect Gwendolyn to do anything at all when she was doing that with her hands? God, Gwendolyn wanted nothing more than to devour her in the Californian rain like a starved lion on a baby gazelle, so fragile and unaware, screaming once before succumbing to its fate. But Mildred was aware, and this sex-driven, lustful monster Gwendolyn had made out of her was consuming every second of her life, not that she minded at all. Today was a busy day, though, and they had approximately forty-five minutes to become presentable, abstained versions of the hungry, depraved sex goddesses they’d become in their year back in California. 

The house was clean. After all, two people in such a large house and no children wouldn’t allow for mess. Mildred liked things tidy and neat. Her side of the closet was arranged by color and occasion, while Gwendolyn’s was mostly what she frequently wore followed by the suits she hoped to wear as soon as someone would take her on. Mildred grabbed a sundress from the closet and dropped her robe, the light silk landing around her ankles with a faint swoosh. 

“Fuck,” Gwendolyn cursed under her breath, tending to her own outfit as a means to avoid staring at the milky skin and hardened nipples that were glaring her in the face. “Please, not right now, darling. We’re down to forty minutes.”

“Mm, I know you can spare five,” said Mildred, her voice tightening as she held one side of her abdomen. “I’m ovulating.”

So was Gwendolyn, but did that matter? Gwendolyn hissed under her breath and eased on a pair of pants followed by her bra and shirt, evidently wounding Mildred and causing the younger woman to pout quite adorably. Fuck, Gwendolyn was on the verge of calling Trevor and telling him their Siamese cat, Hecate, had eaten a Tampax and needed to be rushed to the veterinarian, just so she could swallow Mildred whole in several intervals without the interruption of company. 

Nevertheless, the couple dressed themselves and brushed their teeth and hair together, the sensation of touching each other, even in a very platonic sort of way, causing upset from Gwendolyn and Mildred to be shoved up against the sink with Gwendolyn’s face flush between her legs for a brief moment before the doorbell rang and Hecate dashed under the bed. 

“Goddamnit,” Gwendolyn cursed, wiping her mouth. “The one day it’s pouring, they manage to be early. Did I ever mention I hate how well Trevor plans things?”

“Once or twice,” Mildred rasped. 

Mildred’s legs were like jelly as she stood on her own feet. The sink had surely left an indentation on the small of her back, but that was perfectly acceptable, because no one at work would see it, and Mildred always flooded her panties thinking of how well she hid those things from her colleagues who viewed her as a proper heterosexual woman living in the suburbs with a white picket fence and a loving husband in advertising. She lived in a nice home, that much was true, but she instead had a doting girlfriend who was struggling to gain her bearings on her political career, and that much was fine, too. Deviousness aroused Mildred, and it worked itself out just perfectly for her. 

The bell rang again. Gwendolyn took two more seconds to smooth out the hair Mildred had ruffled with her thighs, before she grabbed Mildred’s hand and led her downstairs to the front door. Mildred’s cheeks were pink and hot as Gwendolyn opened the door to reveal Trevor and Andrew backdropped by several inches of rain pouring down. Andrew shook the umbrella before setting it aside on the porch, his smile warm. His eyes were the color of honey, his curls the shade of dark chocolate. 

“I won’t mention anything regarding Mildred’s wardrobe malfunction,” said Trevor, a smile pulling at his lips. “I see why it took you a moment.” 

A shriek of horror left Mildred’s throat as she noticed one breast revealing itself from the hem of her golden sundress, her nipple blinding everyone present. She tucked it back in and buried herself into Gwendolyn’s back as the latter chuckled in amusement, letting the men in from the rain. Trevor was holding a pot of something in his gloved hands. 

“Trevor, I told you, you didn’t have to bring anything,” Gwendolyn moaned, shaking her head. 

“I told him, Gwendolyn, but he just would not listen,” said Andrew. They found themselves in the kitchen, and Trevor sat the pot on the stove. “He’s stubborn as a mule, we all know that.” 

Gwendolyn sighed in relief as she lifted the lid and inhaled the steam of a fresh batch of chicken noodle soup. It reminded her of the few times she fell ill with Trevor and he ensured she would recover in minutes. Mildred had taken fantastic care of her, too, but Trevor had magic in his veins. His cooking was like no other. 

“Nonsense.” Trevor waved them off. “I made this as leftovers for you and Mildred to share. Lord knows she can’t survive on bologna sandwiches and peaches forever. We need to get a bit of nutrition in her somehow.” 

Scowling, Mildred crossed her arms. She took a bit of offense to that, because Gwendolyn had already been diversifying her diet day by day, adding in new ingredients and snacks where she possibly could, and although bologna was her staple for her work lunches, it remained almost exclusively a work lunch. Gwendolyn had put in so much work to feed her properly, and even if she still was not gaining enough weight, the sentiments were helping. 

“She’s improving already, Trevor,” said Gwendolyn, as Mildred laid her head on her shoulder. “But I can’t resist your soups. They were always my favorite when you were here.”

“I’m making pork chops and sweet potatoes tonight,” said Trevor. “Odd combination, I know, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Sweet potatoes?” Mildred asked, her brows furrowing. “Are they like potatoes but sweet? I’ve never had that.” 

Trevor and Andrew shared a glance that seemed quite dramatic, even for Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn chuckled at how frustrated Mildred became as Trevor shook his head and brushed her reddish hair from her face.

“Oh, dear. Let’s get some real food in you,” he said. “Andrew, get the wine. It’s going to be quite the evening.”

—

Mildred and Trevor played checkers for awhile, until the rain slowed the aroma of slow cooking meat filled the air. Gwendolyn and Andrew were peeling the sweet potatoes in the kitchen for Trevor while he obliterated Mildred with a final move in the living area. The nurse frowned, shifting uncomfortably on the pillow she was sitting on. 

“Again? How do you win twice in a row?” Mildred complained. 

“Luck,” Trevor said, reaching over to tap her nose. 

Mildred wanted to curse, but she was stopped by the telephone ringing loudly in her ear. Wincing, she twisted her body and answered it quickly. Calls on a Sunday were very rare, and a blooming worry exploded like the sun as Betsy’s panicked voice unloaded a lot of information, most of which went unprocessed other than “need you” and “right now.” 

The line was dead, and Mildred just felt dead, like a floating ghost of another realm, weeping for life. Bile found its way into her throat as she stood up and hobbled off the pillow. Trevor stood with her and placed his hands on her shoulders, which tensed immediately, like he was going to hurt her and they were bracing for impact. He released his touch and favored lowering himself to meet Mildred’s wet eyes. 

“Darling,” Trevor whispered. “What happened? Who was that?” 

Mildred could not speak, for the life of her. She simply stood and swayed. Trevor left a gentle kiss on her head before hurrying to the kitchen to pull Gwendolyn aside. Without allowing Trevor to finish his sentence, Gwendolyn abandoned the potato peeler and rushed to Mildred’s side, her hands finding Mildred’s waist and bringing her to the couch, where they sat curled together until Mildred looked up some minutes later, hot tears leaking from the corners of her swollen eyes. 

“What’s the matter, darling?” asked Gwendolyn. “Are you alright? Who was on the telephone?”

“Betsy,” Mildred murmured into Gwendolyn’s neck. “The bar. There was a raid today, and they arrested and are transporting three women to the hospital for psychiatric care. She wants me to go in to be there when they arrive.” 

Gwendolyn could not breathe for a minute. She almost didn’t believe Mildred, but she understood, if she were being truthful. She, too, had been in a raid. Granted, no one had been arrested then, only scared off until the coast was clear. This was different. The authorities, meant to protect and serve, were only serving people who fit society’s agenda, and that did not sit well with Gwendolyn, even more so when Mildred sobbed against her chest.

“Anyone we know?” Gwendolyn asked. 

Mildred shook her head. “She didn’t tell me their names. I’m sure she doesn’t know yet. I need to get dressed. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”

Trevor kneeled before Mildred and left a kiss on her forehead. Mildred sighed in relief, almost melting into him. 

“Go on, darling,” said Trevor. “They need you. You need to protect them. No one else will. We all know that very well.” 

Mildred knew that. And so, she found the strength to discard her dress in favor of her uniform, dressing herself with trembling, achy fingers. She managed to stop the flow of tears long enough for them to dry on her cheeks in pale rivers against her pink cheeks, and she sniffled at herself in the mirror before adjusting her hat and heading downstairs. Gwendolyn draped her raincoat over Mildred and kissed her one last time. 

“Call, okay?” Gwendolyn urged. 

Mildred nodded. She ventured into the Sunday rain, and at least then, no one would have been able to discover that she’d been crying.

—

Betsy Bucket was standing on the steps of Lucia State Hospital when Mildred arrived. Her hair was a wreck and she was anxiously pacing, a cigarette between her fingers. The air was wet, but it hadn’t been raining for a few minutes, a miracle, Mildred decided, as she left the car and stumbled her way up to Betsy, who practically threw herself at Mildred in relief. 

“I know it’s your day off and you were probably with Gwendolyn, but—“ Betsy rambled. 

“It’s alright, Betsy, honest.” 

It was alright, Mildred chose to believe, because some of the nurses hadn’t been kind to the faux heterosexual Mildred had always attempted to be around the staff, and their attitude towards treating single and childless women was sometimes unfathomable, with their snide comments of being alone and miserable for the rest of their lives if they couldn’t find a man to fulfill their duty of marriage and motherhood. Mildred could not begin to imagine how they’d react to women needing treatment for lesbianism after being discovered in a lesbian bar raid. 

“All I know is, the police were able to immediately identify three married women during the raid,” grieved Betsy, taking a drag from her cigarette. “They arrested them two hours ago, called up their husbands, and of course their husbands demanded they be brought in for an evaluation, since the very kind officer offered our services, as if we have enough room for this nonsense. Doctor Green is going to have an absolute tantrum.” 

Mildred was sick. She wanted to hurl right there, but she pushed the lumpy sourness down and remained stoic and cold, until it began to drizzle, and she stepped back beneath the awning. The rain had extinguished Betsy’s cigarette. The woman spat out a string of curses before flicking it to the side. 

Whomever had arrested the women had the dignity to transport them in three subtle police cars rather than a glaringly obvious ambulance as if queerness were something like a heart attack. Well, the loud sirens and flashing lights weren’t too subtle, and when the cars came to a grinding halt in a single file line, Mildred could make out the outline of a woman wiping her tears away, her hands cuffed together. Out of each of the cars came a uniformed officer, and somehow they were all burly and overly large like towers. They opened the doors and put their calloused hands on the fragile women whom Mildred had already discovered a way to love. 

“Officers, remove those cuffs at once,” Betsy demanded. “They’re lesbians, not maniacs.” 

One officer, with his hand surely leaving bruises along the weeping woman’s arm, raised his free hand as a way to dismiss Betsy’s request. Heat exploded across Mildred’s neck. 

“Protocol, lady,” said the officer. 

“That’s Nurse Bucket, to you, officer, and I’m ordering you to remove the cuffs,” Betsy reiterated. “Now.”

“We can’t. Where would you like them? Out back in the garbage?” He laughed as if queer women were the circus, only existing to please him. 

Betsy’s scowl and impending rant were severed by a shrill shriek. Head snapping to the left, Mildred found the burliest of all policemen dragging a woman off her feet, up to the steps. She sunk her teeth into the man’s arm, and the only thing Mildred could witness then was the officer striking the woman in the face, and she wailed and crumpled to the ground. The subsequent kicking of her side by the officer sent Mildred running, and before she could understand what she was doing, she was pulling him off the woman with every last muscle she could utilize in the moment. 

“Don’t you dare lay your hands on my patient!” Mildred growled, helping the woman to her feet. The woman began to sob, her makeup smeared beyond repair. “You’re okay, sweetie.” 

She was warm. Warmer than a normal human temperature, that was. The exhaustion and force of the afternoon had damaged and sickened her, and Mildred desired nothing more than to wrap her in her arms and rock her to sleep as she frequently did the younger patients whose families had long abandoned them. 

“Where do you want them?” the officer asked Betsy once again. 

The nurse pinched the bridge of her nose. “Inside, in the common area. And remove those things.” 

Yanking the women by the arms, the officers marched them into the building, drenched and soaked in rainwater. The common area was empty, with dinner being a short while away, and the women were tossed around like rag dolls, almost bouncing off the sofas they were violently thrown on. The officers removed the cuffs, and mildred breathed a sigh of relief in unison with them as their hands were freed. 

“Bucket, we need you to sign these forms,” said the large, overly-masculine officer as he shoved a clipboard into Betsy’s hands. 

The nurse begrudgingly signed the waivers stating she was now responsible for the health and well-being of the lesbians, as if the police cared at all what happened to these unfortunate souls whom were simply living out their long suppressed desires for love in what should have been a safe place for them. Of course, society in the way it stood did not allow for such things. 

As the officer lit up a cigarette, he nudged Mildred’s shoulder on his way out, leaning close to her face. His breath reeked of clove cigarettes and menthols. “If I had my way with them, they wouldn’t be like that anymore. It’s an easy fix, ya know. Make them like it. They don’t need no mental hospital. They need a man.” 

“As I recall, these are married women. Unfulfilling penises and violent testosterone have nothing to do with it, it seems,” Mildred quipped. She plucked the cigarette from his lips and extinguished it in the ash tray atop the counter. “There’s no smoking in here. Run along.” 

He spat at Mildred, but unfazed, Mildred brushed it off and saw the officers out. They disappeared into the rain, and Mildred shuddered as the door slammed. 

Betsy was tending to the women, getting them situated and as comfortable as they could be in such a strange place. Mildred aided in getting their names, although they seemed quite petrified to admit their identities. Mildred didn’t know any of them, which seemed correct, seeing as she and Gwendolyn hadn’t frequented the bar in months. 

“You’re safe here, ladies,” Mildred assured. “No one can hurt you here. Your husbands may be in later to speak with us, but they can’t hurt you. They won’t be allowed to visit you unless you give us explicit permission. I’m afraid you can’t leave on your own volition, because your husbands chose to admit you. Believe me, if I could let you run, I would.” 

Betsy was awestruck by Mildred’s tenderness as she kneeled down and wiped the tears from Mrs. Hill’s face. The way Mildred gently caressed her cheeks and brushed away the hurt and agony was so kind and gentle, not gaudy or spiteful, and there was a moment of silence as Mrs. Hill soothed and reduced herself to sniffles like a hungry infant. 

“We’ll get you all into your rooms. Dinner will be available soon. I understand you may not feel up to eating, but you still have the option,” said Mildred. 

Betsy had already made up three rooms with fresh linens and the curtains drawn. Mildred helped each woman to their respective room, where she sat them on the bed, removed their shoes, and offered them a standardized Lucia patient uniform. Mrs. Hill didn’t take too kindly to the boring ensemble, but after some coaxing from Mildred, she agreed to strip herself and exchange her exaggerated outfit for the gown. 

Mildred waited patiently behind the divider, hearing the clothes ruffling and the bed creaking. In her hand she held the clothes Mrs. Hill would probably never wear again, and her heart ached and longed for the day this sort of practice would be abolished, a thing of the past, so to speak. She bagged the clothes and set them aside like tainted evidence, and when she stepped behind the divider, she found Mrs. Hill weeping on her bed. 

“I’m so sorry,” Mildred offered. “I’m so very sorry this is happening to you.” 

“I should have left him,” Mrs. Hill sobbed. Her dark brown curls clung to her face. “I should have. He’s a bastard, a halfwit, an aggressive woman-hating monster.” 

“Shush. Don’t blame yourself,” said Mildred. “This is his doing. He did this to you. You did nothing wrong.” 

“I went to the bar,” Mrs. Hill rasped into her palm. “He caught me a couple months ago, there. He had followed me. I told him I was going to the farmer’s market on the edge of town. I made it five minutes in the bar with another woman before he caught me outside smoking a cigarette. He grabbed my hair, kicked me, dragged me to the car and shook me around until I was dizzy. He told me that—that I was sick, and if I didn’t change, he would admit me to a hospital so they could electrocute the homosexual out of me.” 

“That’s awful, Mrs. Hill,” said Mildred, her hands wiping the tears again. “Did he do anything else to you?”

The woman was going to be sick if she had to relive what her bastard husband had done to her in the whirlwind of the last few weeks. If Mildred had witnessed her change clothes, she would have seen the yellowing bruises and swollen bumps on her ribcage. A gynecological exam would prove many more harrowing crimes, but not crimes against her body that could be recognized by society, thus refuting the purpose. 

“You can tell me,” Mildred assured. “I’m here to protect you, not to hurt you. You can tell me anything you need to tell me.”

There was something so poetic about Mrs. Hill. The way she looked longingly at Mildred, how small she seemed compared to her age of 28 years. Her sultry brown eyes were whimsical and angelic, her hues telling a story of agony and a sapphic lust she couldn’t fulfill. And then, Mildred understood where she’d once seen this; in the mirror, many years ago, after laying eyes on Gwendolyn for the first time and not quite understanding the burning desire that plagued her every waking and restful moment. 

“Please, I just want to rest,” Mrs. Hill whimpered. 

Nodding, Mildred helped her against the pillows and eased her back. She brought the covers over her and stroked her hair from her face. The woman was slumbering within minutes, the exhaustion of being abused like a rag doll overcoming her. Mildred turned out the lights and bid the woman an aching goodnight, closing the door behind herself. Policy required her to lock it, and she did so with a pain in her fingers. 

—

Gwendolyn had waited up for Mildred. It was half past eight by the time Mildred made it home. Trevor and Andrew were gone, leaving nothing but the smell of cinnamon and butter in their wake. Mildred found herself in Gwendolyn’s lap almost immediately, startling the older woman from her newspaper. Gwendolyn’s arms found their way around the slender woman’s waist, bringing her closer to her body. 

Mildred felt like she’d been kicked and drained of energy. The collar of her dress was wrinkled and tearstained from cradling the women against her chest, soothing them until they’d finally succumbed to the sandman. 

“I’m so grateful for you,” murmured Mildred against Gwendolyn’s neck. Her breath tickled Gwendolyn. “That could’ve been us. They could have arrested us. They could have—“

“Shh,” cooed Gwendolyn, setting aside the paper in favor of fully cradling Mildred to herself, this time having Mildred sit in front of her on her lap with her legs straddling her waist and her arms wound around her neck. “I know, darling. I know you’re tired and frustrated.” 

Gwendolyn’s hands found the clasps of Mildred’s heels and pulled them off slow and easy. Mildred wiggled her ankles and let the shoes fall to the floor with a small thump. Her body began to melt into Gwendolyn like ice cream in the summer sun. 

“I’m sorry,” Mildred admitted. 

Gwendolyn’s fingers raked through the curls at the end of Mildred’s hair, working their way up to the hat haphazardly dangling off two strands of hair. She removed the hat and discarded it, letting the rest of Mildred’s hair fall around her face. Mildred’s face flushed, and she buried herself in the nook of Gwendolyn’s neck, her nose gently gliding over the soft skin there. 

“What are you sorry for?” Gwendolyn questioned.

“Having to leave. They must be so upset with me,” Mildred rambled. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, darling,” assured Gwendolyn. “They understood. You’re trying to do everything, and they understand that. Trevor even made you a plate. It’s on the stove. Why don’t you eat something? You must be so hungry.” 

Mildred shook her head and let out a sigh of relief as she felt herself drifting away into the slumber she so desperately needed. Like floating on a cloud of nothingness, Mildred’s brain went fuzzy and her thoughts clouded together right before the overwhelming sensation of nothing overcame her and took her from Gwendolyn’s arms into the land of sleep, where she remained for who knew how long. 

Gwendolyn felt alone and whole at the same time, miraculously not disturbing Mildred with her wry chuckle. Mildred was limp against her, her breaths coming out slow and even, a relieving sign she’d fallen asleep. She supported Mildred’s back with one arm, the other pressing Mildred’s thighs together so she could lift her. Carrying Mildred was easy; she was light and airy, like a little marshmallow, as Gwendolyn’s mother had described her the first and only time she’d met her. Mildred hadn’t understood it, but it had given Gwendolyn a chuckle. 

Their bed was made down for bedtime. Hecate was moon-bathing on their windowsill, licking herself, by the time Gwendolyn made it in and laid Mildred on her side of the bed. Using gentle hands, Gwendolyn removed Mildred’s thin tights and rolled them down until they were completely off, then worked on getting Mildred out of that damned dress. Buttons were a pain, but rolling the dress to bunch around Mildred’s waist hurt more. Gwendolyn finally managed to remove the dress entirely, ensuring to hang it on the bathroom door to avoid wrinkles. Mildred hated wrinkles.

“Sleep tight, darling,” said Gwendolyn, leaving a kiss on Mildred’s forehead. 

Mildred was nearly nude, and Gwendolyn turned the heat up and tucked her below their heavy duvet, ensuring she wouldn’t stir awake. 

Gwendolyn’s plan had been to leave Mildred asleep and read a book in the living room with Hecate in her lap until a rerun of a puppet show was due to air, but as she moved to leave the bed, she could not take her eyes off the fairy sleeping soundly. Mildred had been exhausted, and even in sleep, she seemed spent and tensed. 

Watching the rise and fall of Mildred’s chest, Gwendolyn could not fathom how someone could ever harm something so delicate. She’d been blessed with a fantastic, doting mother who accepted Mildred with open arms, but Mildred and thousands of women around the world had not been so lucky. 

The idea caused a grievance to surface in Gwendolyn’s eyes, and before she could let the tears fall, she closed and locked everything up for the night, bringing he book to the bedroom to finish off a chapter. Hecate jumped onto the bed and laid at Mildred’s feet, her body humming with contented purrs as she found a spot to curl on. Gwendolyn settled in bed after washing her face and pulling her pajamas on, her hair clipped back to avoid disturbing it. 

Mildred was still asleep, and Gwendolyn scooted beneath the covers with her, pressing her body close to hers to keep her warm and comfortable. Gwendolyn hadn’t meant to cry or make a fist, but she did both, and still, Mildred was asleep, blissfully unaware and perfectly safe in Gwendolyn’s arms.

—

A week passed for Mildred and the rest of the world. Betsy had given her subtle charge over the three women whom Mildred had already bonded with just by bringing them their meals and taking them for their showers. Mrs. Hill was the least pleased but the most grateful, perhaps just content with being away from her husband whom called the hospital to threaten her life on multiple occasions, to which Mildred replied by slamming the phone down and stifling him. 

Doctor Green, a woman of fifty-something with overly-exaggerated glasses and dark skin, was musing over a mountain of paperwork, containing her fury, when Mildred knocked on the door of her office late Monday morning. The lines in her face worried Doctor Green, and she invited Mildred to sit with her. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, but. . .Mrs. Hill,” Mildred began. “She’s feeling unwell. It started on Saturday. She’s sick to her stomach, can’t eat, fatigued. She’s complaining of sore breasts and a headache.” 

Doctor Green adjusted her glasses and shifted uncomfortably. Mildred seemed oblivious to the glaringly transparent symptoms of Mrs. Hill’s condition, and the doctor unlocked her medical cabinet behind her desk and unearthed a plastic cup. She used a permanent marker to write the date and Mrs. Hill’s full name on the label before passing it along to Mildred. 

“What is this for?” Mildred inquired. 

“It’s a specimen cup, Nurse Ratched,” said Doctor Green. “I need to you to have Mrs. Hill urinate in it. Just enough to get a sample. Bring it back to me, and I will have it tested.”

“Tested? What for?” asked Mildred. She was becoming frazzled; she had to prepare the patients’ medications, collect the linens for a wash, serve lunch. She certainly didn’t have time for a urine test on top of everything else. 

“Pregnancy, Nurse Ratched,” replied the doctor.

Aghast, Mildred’s confusion quickly morphed into horror. She held the cup in her hand, gazing longingly at it as if wishing it away. Doctor Green stared at Mildred for a moment, before the nurse stood up and thanked her, quickly scurrying away to Mrs. Hill’s room. 

The sickly woman was curled on her bed, a book hooked in her hands, although she hadn’t seemed so interested in it between the intervals of nausea. The younger woman gave the nurse a weakened smile, and Mildred wanted so badly to return it in earnest, but the mere fear of the woman expecting hindered Mildred’s ability to smile. 

“Mrs. Hill. . .”

“Please, call me Dorothy,” Mrs. Hill insisted. “I. . .don’t want to be so tied to him. I have my own name.”

“Of course. Dorothy, I know you are feeling sick, but I need you to do this for me, okay?” Mildred soothed, sitting at the edge of the bed. She offered the cup to Dorothy. “I want you to urinate in this. You don’t have to fill it, I just need enough to take a sample.” 

Dorothy’s hands clenched around the cup, and she swallowed. “Whatever for?”

Mildred certainly hadn’t prepared for this. How could she tell a woman, a lesbian, that she may have been carrying a pregnancy she most certainly did not want? Mildred felt as though she was violating Dorothy in some way, and the words that fell from Mildred’s mouth sickened her, too. 

“Your symptoms align with pregnancy. Because you have a husband, which is a male relation, and I’m uncertain of what all he did to you in the weeks leading up to the raid, I need to test you for pregnancy, just to be safe. Some medications are not safe for pregnant women,” Mildred said. 

Dorothy’s heart had been torn from her chest and smothered in acid. Tears leaked from her eyes, she bit into her palm, and she screamed louder than a laboring woman. Quite ironic how that worked out for itself. 

Mildred allowed the woman to collapse into her in a heap of limbs and hair, and she held her for awhile, until the cries became hiccups and the hiccups became silence. Reluctantly, Dorothy sat up, took the cup, and let Mildred help her to the bathroom. And Mildred waited patiently outside the bathroom door, listening to the sobs, until Dorothy produced a quarter full cup of urine and brought it to her. 

“Nurse Ratched,” sobbed Dorothy as Mildred helped her into bed. “What if I am? What if it’s in me and I can’t get it out? What if—“

“Shh. Rest now, Dorothy,” Mildred cooed. “It takes days for this test to produce results. I want you to try and relax in the next few days. If you are, I will be right here with you, I promise. I’ll be here, no matter what comes of it. Understood?”

Dorothy nodded. Mildred laid her back and brushed her hair from her face, as she’d done each evening before bed. As Dorothy fell into a slumber, the last thing she could recall were Mildred’s eyes leaking, too. 

—

Days were days. How long or how many, Mildred didn’t know. It was Friday evening, and Gwendolyn had every intention of feeding Mildred something whole and nutritious after a long day of work. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, coming to near boil by the time Mildred trudged her way through the front door, ten minutes past her usual time. The nurse seemed shell-shocked and a ghost of herself as she reached the kitchen where Gwendolyn was filling the pot with fresh carrots. Hecate bathed herself on a kitchen chair, one leg erect like a gymnast. 

“Hi, sweetheart,” Gwendolyn greeted. She frowned. “Oh, darling. What’s the matter?” 

“The rabbit died,” Mildred whimpered. “She’s pregnant, Gwen. She’s pregnant, from violence, and she’s terrified, and there’s nothing I can do but watch her suffer and go through an unwanted pregnancy. Her bastard husband refuses to file for divorce. He doesn’t know she’s expecting. We aren’t required to inform him, but as soon as he knows, he will enslave her to be an incubator for him. This is all he ever wanted, she said.”

Turning the heat on the stove down, Gwendolyn brought Mildred into her arms and, for what felt like the umpteenth time in a week, held her until she was weak in the knees. Mildred couldn’t breathe. She wanted nothing more than to collapse into a black hole, never to be seen again, away from this universe as she knew it. 

“One of the nurses. . .Margret. She’s trained in midwifery. She took a look at Dorothy. She estimated her to be about seven weeks along now,” Mildred sniffled into Gwendolyn’s collar. “Her life is over, Gwen. She just wants to live out her days with another woman. She wants the company and love of another woman, the loving touch you hold me with. She doesn’t want a child. Not from him.” 

Speechless, Gwendolyn continued to hold Mildred as lovingly as Mildred had just described. The aroma of the soup combined with the candle burning away on the counter brought Mildred a sweltering sense of comfort and tranquility only home could bring. She grieved, and she cried, and she let Gwendolyn run a warm bubble bath for her, setting dinner aside for the moment as she carried Mildred upstairs to get in the bath. Hecate trotted alongside them, her green eyes wide as Gwendolyn stripped Mildred to the nude and helped her into the bath. 

“Join me. Please,” Mildred almost begged. “Please.” 

Gwendolyn, too, found herself naked and in the bath water. It was scalding, which Mildred had always preferred, and it took Gwendolyn a moment to adjust to the temperature before spreading her legs and allowing Mildred to lay between them, her own legs coming to a steady float. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Gwendolyn crooned, running her finger over the arch of Mildred’s ear. “I’ll wash you up and get you clean. Just relax, okay?”

Mildred hummed contently in response, allowing Gwendolyn to squeeze a bit of Prell into her palm and massage it into her scalp. Her hair was magnificently thick and full. Gwendolyn’s most favorite feature of Mildred’s was the hair. Oh, how beautiful it was, so silky and soft. Gwendolyn took extra care to it, easing the suds from Mildred’s head using a plastic cup. 

“Sit up a bit, darling,” Gwendolyn urged. “I need to wash you.” 

Without protest, Mildred sat forward and let the water pour from her body. Gwendolyn used a bar of soap to lather every inch of Mildred’s porcelain skin, paying additional attention to her crevasses and sweat glands and scars. Bathing Mildred was always a breeze, because Mildred was always such a good sport about the ordeal. No matter how long they sat in the bathtub, or even if Gwendolyn accidentally got soap in Mildred’s eyes, Mildred wouldn’t flinch. This was as close to Gwendolyn as she could be, just the two of them, intimately bonding. 

“You’re still working tomorrow, right?” asked Gwendolyn as she rinsed Mildred’s body with a washcloth. “Are you sure you don’t want a day off?”

“No, I’m fine. I have patients to tend to,” said Mildred. She paused. “Thank you.”

“For?” 

“This. Everything. Taking care of me when I’m vulnerable, holding me when I’m afraid. I can’t repay you,” Mildred sighed in defeat. 

“Oh, sweetheart. You never have to repay me. I’m here for you, and only for you,” Gwendolyn reassured. She wiped the last bubble from Mildred’s skin. “You’re all clean. What do you say we watch a movie tonight?” 

Honestly, Mildred was much too exhausted to keep her eyelids peeled long enough for a movie, but she wanted a less obvious excuse to snuggle with Gwendolyn, and so she agreed, pulling herself out of the bath and draining the water. She toweled off her and Gwendolyn’s hair, both women wrapping their bathrobes around themselves, and Mildred gathered up Hecate in her arms as they went downstairs to watch television. 

The local networks were due to go off the air in just a couple hours time and wouldn’t return until the morning cartoons, so Gwendolyn flicked through the very few channels. There weren’t any films playing, a hard misfortune for Mildred, but Gwendolyn settled on I Love Lucy, a new sitcom that aired on CBS, seemingly at all hours as it had grown in popularity among the housewives in the few months of its existence. 

Mildred’s eyes became heavy halfway into the episode, the repetitive laugh tracks providing a white noise. Gwendolyn caressed Mildred’s jawline as she began to drift away, and it wasn’t until Gwendolyn had fallen asleep herself that Mildred’s eyelids peeled back some hours later to a staticky television and the soft breaths of Gwendolyn. Her head was in Gwendolyn’s lap, her hair tangled and damp. 

“Fuck,” Mildred cursed as she sat up, her back cracking. 

The clock read ten, and Mildred’s muscles twinged. Unlike her beautiful woman could do for her, Mildred could not carry Gwendolyn to bed. She laid Gwendolyn’s head on a sofa pillow and draped an afghan blanket over her, leaving a soft kiss against her lips. 

“I’ll be back,” Mildred whispered. 

Mildred found herself in a wrinkled nurse’s dress, which angered her enough to spend a century smoothing out what she could before easing into her heels, sans tights. She draped her overcoat over herself and held a silver key between her fingers. 

There was a closet at the end of the hallway. Gwendolyn and Trevor had never used it, having a large amount of space for storage elsewhere for just the two of them. Mildred unlocked the door and pried it open with all her mercy, breathing a sigh of relief upon discovering it was still there, untouched. She picked up the small briefcase and locked the closet, to avoid Gwendolyn’s suspicion, and made her way downstairs, petting Hecate goodnight before stepping out into the drizzling air. 

What she had every intention of doing may have been wrong and immoral to a certain demographic of people, but as she had recalled of her few years living with an alcoholic mother who had never wanted to bear children, followed by several years of abuse and foster homes, the lesson had always been clear as water; not everyone should have children, and that was perfectly alright.

—

Mildred snuck past the snoozing nurse at the nurse’s station upon her arrival. Edith had always been a bore. Any second without an unruly patient was tedious and unworthy of her time. Mildred thanked the woman’s blatant disregard in the moment as she snatched the ring of keys from the desk and marched onwards, briefcase in hand. 

Dorothy was sleeping, as the entire hospital should have been, when Mildred unlocked her door. She was on her side, one hand over her abdomen. Mildred did not overlook the tear stains decorating her gorgeous face. Rather, she admired them and, with a brief tug in her chest, sat at the edge of the bed, the darkness coating the room leaving much to the imagination. 

“Wake up, sweetheart,” Mildred cooed. She rubbed Dorothy’s shoulder. “Wake up.”

Dorothy stirred and managed to sit up. She reached for the lamp, but Mildred caught her wrist and held it between her hands. 

“Nurse Ratched?” Dorothy slurred, a bit louder than Mildred liked. 

“No. We can’t afford to draw attention,” whispered Mildred. “Listen to me. I know you’re very tired, but I can help you. I just need to make sure you are conscious enough to make decisions so I know you’re giving me full consent. What day is it?”

Dorothy blinked and looked at the alarm clock. The darkness forced her to squint. “Almost January 26th.”

“Right. Tell me your full name, please,” Mildred said, nearly begging.

“Dorothy Anne Hill. Maiden name is Richards,” Dorothy responded. She was coming to a bit more, shaking off what little sleep she had. 

“If you are pregnant, do you want to be?” Mildred inquired. 

There was a heartbeat before Dorothy shook her head. “No. I don’t want to be pregnant. I don’t want any part of him. He’s a monster. I just want to feel normal again.” 

Knots forming in her belly, Mildred popped open the briefcase and revealed quite daunting medical tools; one of the tools was something of a long metal rod with a curvature towards the end. Dorothy seemed confused at first, but as the realization cut through her muddled state, there was a mix of relief and terror in her chest. 

“I know these scare you,” Mildred gently soothed. “What I’m about to do, you cannot speak of it, understood? We could both be imprisoned if anyone finds out.”

Dorothy nodded. “Abortion. It’s not a bad word.” 

A grim smile tugged at the corners of Mildred’s mouth. She was a bit rusty in this practice, having not performed an abortion since her time in the army, alongside another nurse who lived and swore by the right of a woman’s body, and that had been when Mildred began to understand that the abuse her body had endured should not have happened and she was a person with autonomy, in full control. Well, almost full control. If she’d been granted full control, she wouldn’t be toting around a secret abortion tool kit. 

“You must give me explicit consent to do this,” said Mildred. “I need to know that you are capable of making this choice all on your own.”

“I want to,” Dorothy admitted. “Please. If he finds out about my condition, I’ll never see the light of day again. He’ll hurt me, force me to have as many children as he wants. I can’t do that. I can’t have a child. Please!”

Mildred pressed her forehead to Dorothy’s, her eyes closing. Dorothy soothed herself with the nurse’s comforting aura and scent, despite the case of tools glaring her in the face, taunting her. 

“Listen to me. I will do this for you. But you mustn’t speak of it. Not one word,” Mildred reminded. “I have some anesthetic hidden in the break room. Well, it’s more of a sedative. It’s only enough to last a few minutes to half an hour. I’ll try to be quick, but I don’t want to kill you or leave any evidence behind. It might hurt, but you have to stay quiet for me. Can you do that?” 

“Please, Nurse Ratched,” Dorothy sobbed. “Please rid me of this curse.” 

And that was all the consent Mildred needed. She snatched a tiny, quarter-full vial of anesthetic from its hiding place in a sofa cushion, rinsed the fruit bowl before filling it with warm water, and set up her supplies at the foot of Dorothy’s bed. She had the woman raise her gown above her waist and remove her underwear. There was no modesty to be had, not with Dorothy’s legs spread far enough for Mildred to clean around her pubic area, gently cleansing her opening with a topical antiseptic. 

As soon as Mildred had everything within arms reach, she injected Dorothy with the only bit of anesthetic she had to spare from Doctor Green’s stash, and she left a kiss on Dorothy’s forehead as the woman became slightly drowsy and incapacitated. 

The final image Dorothy could comprehend as the drugs overcame her was that of another world; Mildred, as she got to work with her tools between Dorothy’s legs, had large white wings, larger than any angel Dorothy had read about in Bible study. 

“Sleep, sweetheart,” Mildred’s voice rippled like rocks skipping over water. “You’ll be free soon.”

—

Mildred counted the minutes after she’d packed away her tools and sopped up the leftover blood with gauze. She had tied up the evidence in a trash bag, of which she would discard on the side of the road later. It was a bit past one, and Dorothy was barely stirring and coming to. 

The woman had been in and out of consciousness throughout the duration of her procedure, sometimes moaning in what felt like pain but she could not have been sure of. Mildred had been careful the entire time, keeping Dorothy quiet while extracting every last bit of the pregnancy she could. The immediate recovery seemed to be working in their favor; the bleeding was minimal and Dorothy didn’t seem too out of it once she became aware of her surroundings. Her glossy eyes met Mildred’s exhausted ones. 

“You did so well,” Mildred praised. “How do you feel?”

“Like I had an illegal abortion,” Dorothy groaned slightly, her head lolling to one side. “It’s not that bad, really.” 

“You’ll be sore for awhile. That’s normal. I put some cotton in your underwear to catch the blood,” said Mildred. She brought Dorothy’s hand to her lips and kissed her knuckles. “I’ll stay here for awhile, until you’re okay to move on your own.”

Dorothy moaned as she turned over on her side. “Nurse Ratched. . .they knew I was pregnant. What will happen when they realize I’m not anymore? You’re going to get in trouble.”

Mildred’s eyes twinkled in the night’s shadows. “You’re not staying here, darling. I need you to rest now, because you’re going on a trip, far away.” 

Gwendolyn may have disagreed with Mildred’s techniques if she would have known, but Mildred disregarded the fact of the matter, focusing instead on the fragile woman who was grasping her for dear life. Dorothy was quiet, keeping her eyes locked on Mildred for what seemed like a century. The dull ache in her uterus paled in comparison to the fear of her husband. 

“I never have to see him again,” Dorothy reveled. “Do I?”

“No, you don’t. He never knew of your condition. You’ll be free soon,” Mildred assured. “I’m so sorry you’ve experienced this. Some of us aren’t as lucky as others.”

Dorothy sighed, lowly groaning. A pang of pain hit her belly button. “Us?”

“Lesbians. Us. You and I,” Mildred admitted. “When I heard about the raid, I couldn’t breathe. Gwendolyn and I—we hadn’t been in months, but it was like a second home to us. and to know they hurt some of us, maybe women we knew. . .we didn’t know what to think.” 

“How did. . .” Dorothy took a breath. “How did you know how to help me? These nurses. . .they seemed sort of delighted to have a pregnant patient. You, not so much.”

“Because they don’t know what it’s like to experience such violence against your humanity,” replied Mildred. “They aren’t us, they never will be us. They view pregnancy as something women should do. A few of them have children. But me? I understand the violence, the way your husband violated you. He was twisted. No one sees that. I assisted in a few abortions when I was in the army. The nurses would fool around with guards, or be raped by shell-shocked soldiers, become pregnant, and need a way out to avoid more violence against them. I did what I had to, and I would do it a million times if I had to.” 

“You’re an angel,” Dorothy chuckled. 

Huck’s voice made its way into Mildred’s mind, and she paused, her smile falling. His mangled face, his innocent eyes, his raspy voice. She hadn’t seen him in years, and her heart became melancholic thinking of him, the way he helped Ingrid and Lily onto the train going furthest, freeing them of a societal burden. She’d always been proud of him, even in death.

“I’m going to give you a painkiller. In an hour, I’m going to get you dressed, and we’re going to take a drive to the train station,” said Mildred, shaking Huck away. 

Dorothy nodded and allowed Mildred to slip a pill on her tongue. The nurse helped her ease it down with water, and then she was up and walking around, gathering her tools and the bag of evidence in her hands. Dorothy watched on in the shadows, the painkiller setting in after fifteen or twenty minutes. 

Mildred helped Dorothy to her feet. The woman winced and did her best to remain upright, the cotton between her legs shifting uncomfortably. Using the stealth of a mouse, Mildred helped the woman into the outfit she’d worn her first day at Lucia, which she’d saved from the incinerator a few days back. 

“How do you feel?” Mildred asked. “Any severe pain? Do you feel any heavy bleeding? On a scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad is the pain?”

“Four,” Dorothy groaned. “It’s not so bad. I had my wisdom teeth pulled without painkillers.” 

Like a fairy, Dorothy let nothing faze her. Not an abortion, not the state of her life, not the uncertainty of her future. And Mildred found it to be quite gorgeous. A poetic justice come to life, even. 

“We’re leaving now. Quiet, please. Edith is snoozing at the desk. The guards are walking the back looking for trouble at this time of night. I’m taking you through the front,” Mildred informed. “You’re going barefoot until I get you to the train station.”

Whatever Mildred instructed, Dorothy followed to a T. Edith’s head was on the desk, her mouth hung wide open as she snoozed, and Mildred eased Dorothy beneath her arm, past the nurse’s station, trash bag and briefcase tucked beneath the other. The younger woman was limited in mobility due to the gnarly cotton pressed against her swollen vulva, and the fact of having an abortion an hour prior. 

“Head down until we’re out of the gates,” Mildred instructed Dorothy as the two women sat in the front seat of Mildred’s Ford. “Quiet.”

Doubled over, Dorothy clenched her teeth, avoiding the burning ache in her vagina and uterus as the tires scraped over the gravel road. Driving out of Lucia was easier than driving in. No one paid much mind, considering the guard was dozing at his post when the gates opened. Mildred tapped Dorothy’s knee, and the woman sat up. 

“I owe you,” Dorothy sighed. “How can I repay you?”

“I don’t need payment. Your life is payment enough,” said Mildred. “You can repay me by living life as you see fit, and one day, I hope we’re alive to see the broadening of society, when we don’t have to hide, when we don’t have to have abortions in the middle of the night to avoid prison time for protecting ourselves.” 

Dorothy sobbed and cried the entire trip to the train station, a scream of pure relief bubbling in her throat. Mildred conducted one final assessment over the woman at the train station, ensuring the bleeding was well contained and she wasn’t hemorrhaging. 

Mildred stepped up to the attendant, using her overcoat to hide a quarter-sized bloodstain on the waistline of her dress. 

“I need a ticket for the train going furthest away from here,” said Mildred. “I’ll pay whatever it is.”

“That would be Madison, Wisconsin, at the moment. It leaves in two hours,” said the attendant. 

Dorothy waited patiently, in awe of the outside world, like a newborn child out of the womb. Mildred purchased the ticket, laid it in Dorothy’s hand, and gave her an affectionate squeeze. 

“Take care of yourself,” Mildred whispered. “You’ll be alright. And when you find your special someone, hold her tight and never let her go.” 

There was something magical about the moment Mildred walked away from the station, leaving Dorothy there with nothing but a future. Something lifted off her shoulders, a dark burden, so to speak. 

The tears she’s been pushing away flowed freely when Mildred got back on the road in the dead of the night, and she decided she was far enough into the woods that no one would be looking for much out there. She stopped at the side of a guard rail and let the wet breeze soak her clothes as she took the bag of bloodied linens and cotton and tossed it over the cliff. The night was so black that the bag could have been falling for a millennium before hitting the water. Mildred sighed, stepped back into her car, and took a moment to breathe. 

—

Going home to Gwendolyn was always the best sensation in the world. Mildred didn’t arrive home until half past four that morning. Gwendolyn was asleep with Hecate on the sofa. Without disturbing either creature, Mildred stripped herself of her uniform, this time leaving it in the laundry basket as a convenience rather than venturing upstairs to hang it, and laid nude on the loveseat opposite Gwendolyn. 

Mildred’s eyelids became heavy, the world falling fuzzy around the edges as the exhaustion of the night’s events replayed in her mind until she had no choice but to succumb. 

When she awakened to sunlight the next morning, Gwendolyn was serving breakfast, the laundry basket rested on her hip. It was nearly seven, and Mildred groaned as she pushed herself up from the loveseat, grabbing her robe in her wake. 

“Good morning, darling,” Gwendolyn greeted, giving Mildred a kiss. “You look incredibly tired. Did you sleep?”

Mildred should’ve been bitter, but she couldn’t find it in herself to be. She nodded and sat at the table, prepared to take a few bites of whatever she could before dressing for the day. 

“Your dress is in the basket,” reminded Gwendolyn. “You work today. Don’t you think you need it?”

“I do. I just thought you could get that stain out with your magic potion before I leave,” Mildred subtly asked. “Please?”

Gwendolyn inspected the dress. “Blood. Where’d this come from?”

“I’m a nurse. I save lives,” reminded Mildred. “I saved one not too long ago.”

Gwendolyn chuckled and kissed the top of Mildred’s head, hurrying away to mix up baking soda and vinegar for the pesky stain. Mildred almost wanted to keep the stain like a badge of honor, but she figured it wouldn’t be work appropriate, so she let Gwendolyn scrub the hell out of it until it was faded enough to go unnoticed for the day. 

“I love you,” Mildred said to Gwendolyn when she returned with a stainless dress. 

“For taking the stain out?” Gwendolyn chuckled. 

“No. For everything. I’m incredibly lucky. We’re incredibly lucky,” Mildred replied. “Ever since the raid. . .I realized, we may be suffering an injustice against us, but there are some of us who are suffering harder.” 

Mildred was beautiful. Everything she ever said was beautiful. Every detail about her was beautiful. 

Gwendolyn simply could not resist. They were attached at the mouths for a few minutes, until the telephone rang. Gwendolyn picked it up, her entire persona screwed up and messy as she did so. 

Betsy Bucket was beside herself, again. “Gwendolyn! I need Mildred immediately! We’re missing Mrs. Hill! Goddamnit, I swear there’s always—!”

The line fell dead, and Gwendolyn hung up, turning to Mildred. Mildred would have flinched if Gwendolyn hadn’t seemed so amused. 

“Were you someone’s angel last night?” asked Gwendolyn. 

Mildred swallowed. “More than that. Her angel of mercy.” 

“You killed her,” Gwendolyn said evenly. “You killed one of us.” 

“No. I would never. In fact, I let her live again.” 

Gwendolyn chose to be spared the harrowing details in the moment, but she made it clear to Mildred that she was open and accepting of whatever Mildred had done to whomever, and she left a kiss on the side of Mildred’s head.

“You’re all Betsy’s until five, but when you get back, you can show me how much of an angel you really are,” Gwendolyn murmured against Mildred’s ear. “You are the most beautiful, merciful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The sun rose, and Mildred shuddered in absolute delight.


End file.
